My Own Private...Studio

What to do with all this time? That’s the question I face each day of this dreaded job search. Between the three minutes it takes to check my email, which is, of course, empty and the several minutes spent afterwards wallowing in the inevitable self-doubt, I have many minutes of time to fill.

The funny thing about being in a small upstate college town is how easily the minutes do slip by. You’d think boredom would set in, but it hasn’t. Not yet. Because, well, projects just seem to come up.

One has been the repair of some old school models; let’s just say that, in spite of my best efforts, damage occurred. After all, 500 miles in the back of a U-Haul does take its toll. Thus, a couple models were rattled about, and their pieces, held together by the tenuous bonds of Elmers glue, found themselves not so much attached to one another. Then there was the more significant destruction caused by large bodies in tight storage spaces. As they say, shit happens.

So, today, my hands, finding themselves idle for too long, took to the task of, let’s say, restoring the past. After some hunting around, a couple of runs to a local art store, and the re-arrangement of some of my brother’s furniture, I had it, my own private studio.

I’ve mentioned it before, my love of modeling, especially in wood. I like the tactile nature of the medium, the knowledge you gain, through your fingertips, of the scale, the space, the objects before you.



I’m not always the most patient person, but when I model, I’ll sit still for hours, waiting for glue to dry. I like the details. I like measuring to fit.

Modeling requires some inventive uses of the things around you. You find ways to get things done while freeing you up to continue on. Like oranges for weights, with tea-candle holders to distribute the weight evenly over a surface.

Most of all, modeling always gave me a sense of accomplishment. I liked the moment when you could stand back and see the product of the long hours. It wasn’t the real thing, but it was close enough, a tidbit to whet the appetite, tease me of things yet to come. It kept me puttering along, hoping to see the day when I would stand in front of a project that I had helped supervise, perhaps designed, and saw realized.

So, until I get a job, this will have to do.